Fire First
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Missing scene from "Will You Take My Hand?". Tyler is in a position to answer a question that has been haunting Burnham since the beginning of the war.


Fire First

By Laura Schiller

Based on: _Star Trek: Discovery_

Copyright: CBS

/

Michael couldn't get used to the sight of Voq, alias Ash Tyler.

After seeing the brown eyes she loved narrowed into slits, the lips she had kissed twisted into a snarl, and the hands she had held wrapped around her throat, it was painful even to be in the same room with him. It took all the Vulcan discipline Sarek had ever taught her to look this man in the face without trembling.

But she had come to his quarters to ask a question, one that would leave her no peace until it was answered. One that, once their mission to Q'ronos was over, she might not get the chance to ask again.

"Answer me one thing," she said, standing at attention, silently blessing her foster-father for the ability to keep her voice clear and her eyes steady. "You were there at the Battle of the Binary Stars, weren't you … as Voq, I mean? If the _Shenzhou_ had fired first, would it have made any difference?"

Ash looked up from where he was sitting on his couch, put down the sailor's knot he had been tying, and met her eyes with such deep empathy that she could hardly endure it.

He knew exactly why she was asking. She had confided in him once about how much her betrayal still haunted her. She still heard her own voice snarling at Saru to move, saw the disbelieving look that had crossed Philippa's eyes before the nerve pinch took effect, and felt the ship shudder under the impact of Klingon explosives. Every time she saw Keyla Detmer's bionic eye, every time she found Philippa's badge in her pocket, every time somebody's manner became cold and judgmental at the sound of her infamous name, it all came back.

She didn't have Harry Mudd's time machine, and whether she would use it given the chance was another matter entirely. But she wanted to _know._

"It's in the past," Ash said softly, almost as if he were reading her thoughts. "You don't have to torture yourself over something you can't change."

The irony of him, of all people, saying that almost made her laugh.

"If you had any idea how many different scenarios I've come up with, trying to find one that doesn't end in a war, you'd know why I'm asking. Narrowing it down to just one will be a relief. Just tell me."

He sighed and pushed a chair out for her with his foot. Only a few weeks ago, she would have sat down in his lap on the sofa and rested her head against his chest; the memory made her shiver internally with emotions she refused to name. She sat down stiffly at the edge of the chair, ready to bolt if necessary.

"I wouldn't swear to it," said Ash, "But I'd say … no."

 _No._ The blunt denial took her breath away, and she clenched her hands in her lap to stop them shaking. Still, some distant part of her appreciated the honesty and directness of his speech. The two of them had never been in the habit of sugar-coating the truth.

"T'Kuvma was … well, Voq would call him a savior, but Ash would call him a fanatic," said the hybrid, with an uncomfortable shrug in referring to his two sides. "T'Kuvma was bent on starting a war with the Federation at all costs. If the _Shenzhou_ hadn't been there, he would've found another opportunity. He saw the Federation's expanding and winning of new allies as a threat to Klingon power in the quadrant, and he had the idea that a common enemy might finally unite the warring Houses. Besides, he was … very religious. He believed that dying in battle earns you a place in _Sto'vo'qor_ … in heaven."

Michael could see the conflict inside him. Ash's skepticism, fueled by Earth's long history with religious violence, was clashing with the remnants of Voq's own powerful faith. He was clearly still reluctant to criticize T'Kuvma, and there was a reverence in the way he spoke of the Klingon afterlife. Michael understood that reverence; Vulcans did not believe in a heavenly afterlife, but they did believe in the immortality of souls, and she had been taught to respect that idea.

Had Voq believed he was going to _Sto'vo'Qor_ when he'd prayed to Kahless before his "execution" on the transporter platform? Had he hoped to reunite with his savior T'Kuvma after death? Was it possible T'Kuvma had meant as much to Voq as Philippa had meant to her?

She cut off that line of thinking in shock. It had been hard enough to love Ash Tyler and hate Voq at the same time … but to feel empathy for Voq was almost too much for her heart to bear.She forced herself to focus on the other thing he had said. "So … you're saying you – the Klingons – would've attacked us anyway? You're saying I started a war … for nothing?"

Her voice cracked on the last word. She hid her face in her hands, no longer giving a damn about saving face.

This was what she had been afraid of all along. As she'd faced the judges, as she'd sat in the transport in that mustard-colored prison uniform, as she'd locked eyes with Emperor Georgiou and seen cruelty there instead of kindness, as she'd looked in the mirror and seen the empty space where her Starfleet badge should be, this fear had always been in the back of her mind. Lorca had tried to convince her that her mutiny had been necessary, even heroic, but seeing him in his true colors had only made her doubt him all the more.

" _No!_ " Ash snapped, making her jump. His raised voice reminded her horrifically of Voq's threat to end her. But it wasn't hatred that raised his voice this time. He sprang up off the couch and knelt on the floor, not touching her, but compelling her to lower her hands and look down at him with sheer force of will.

"Michael – Specialist Burnham - _you did not start this war,_ " he said, quietly but fiercely, dark eyes glittering up into hers. "It was never your fault. You have to believe that. We … they … oh, what the hell, I'll say it. _My_ people have been conquerors as long as we can remember. And my other people – humans - we like to think we've evolved beyond that, but we're not so different really. We were bound to clash eventually. You and I, we're part of a much bigger picture. All we can see is our own corners."

She wished she could believe that, wished it so hard that tears came into her eyes. But the habit of a lifetime was hard to shake. Sarek, who had climbed high in politics despite his controversial marriage and had forged alliances and ended wars with the power of his logic, was a strong believer in personal accomplishment. _Do not wait for the world to change,_ he had always told his children. _Change it yourselves._ And somewhere underneath all those years of training, the eight-year-old girl in the back of Michael's mind still wondered if her Mom and Dad would still be alive if she hadn't begged them to watch that supernova with her.

"The bigger picture?" She forced her tears back and glared at him. "What does that even mean? Are you saying we don't have a responsibility to end this war? Because I disagree."

"I'm saying if we're ever gonna make peace with each other, we'll have to make peace with ourselves first." He smiled, the same beautiful, ironic smile that had won her over in the _Discovery_ 's mess hall despite – or because – of the darkness behind it. "And believe me, I know how damn near impossible that sounds."

She couldn't tell if the "we" he referred to this time was their nations or their individual selves, but either way, he had a point. It _was_ damn near impossible for someone who was loyal to two worlds, yet at home in neither, to find peace. And at least her two worlds were allies. His, on the other hand … the more she thought about it, the more awed she was by the fact that he was still sane enough to debate with her at all.

 _I found peace right here,_ he had said to her once, holding her in his arms. His tether, he had called her. That tether had snapped, she reminded herself, sharply, leaving her adrift in the cold darkness of space. But he was drifting too, she could see that. And wasn't it possible, just maybe, that the next tether they spun between them would be more durable than the last – especially if it was spun out of truth?

She was still afraid. But if there was one thing all her mentors, human and Vulcan, had agreed on, it was not to let fear win.

She stood up and held both hands out to Ash. "I can't promise anything … but I'll try."

"Me too." He took her hands and let her pull him to his feet. "That's all we can do."


End file.
